


The First Five Months

by Fourthlinewinger



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Fluff and Romance, M/M, Romance, the soulbonded spies of fantasy europe you never knew you wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 06:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13428840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger
Summary: Zhenya didn’t usually work with Marcus, though Nicky always had good things to say about him. Zhenya had been born in Koshkal, and he worked primarily with the western part of the continent. Marcus spent most of his time organizing and analyzing information and planning operations. When he did go out into the field, it was usually in Typre or Hasala.But they had fought pirates together when accompanying the Queen on holiday, once.Five months with Zhenya and Marcus.





	The First Five Months

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghosthunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/gifts).



> Ghosthunter- It's me again :) I usually like to spend a lot of time thinking of ideas and figuring out how they flow and making some kind of sense of the plot. There was such a short turn around on this, I just started writing, and I had so much fun! Please accept this silly gift of fluff. You're a joy to write for, and I hope you like this little slice of Mojo/Kuzy.
> 
> Thank you [ErinKatz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinKatz) for being a dear friend and saying 'yes' when I asked for a fast beta job. My writing is always better because of you.

_January_  
Zhenya woke up well before dawn, when the world was still black outside the small set of rooms he kept when staying at the palace. Sometimes it seemed foolish to keep the full apartment when so much of his time was spent running around the country putting out fires and investigating rumors, but he couldn’t give up the comfort of having a home, even if it was only for a half the year.  


He should have gone back to bed and worked on his sleep deficit, but his heart was restless and his head was filled with maps and secrets and lies. He pulled on clothes and a heavy wool cloak and left his room. A walk around the grounds, just to make sure all was well, and a cup of tea would send him back to sleep until sunrise.  


The guards nodded at him as he passed. It should have been a comfort. Zhenya should relax, let others take care of the security and the safety of the palace and city below. Still, his blood ran anxiously in his veins and wouldn’t calm no matter how many corridors he ghosted through. When he passed by the kennels, there was light leaking through the half-ajar door. He stopped and he poked his head in to make sure there wasn’t a problem.  


“Marcus,” Zhenya said with surprise, and pushed the door the rest of the way open.  


“Evgeny,” Marcus replied from his spot cross-legged on the floor. He was feeding treats to a gaggle of puppies that bounded cheerily around him. The kennelmistress probably would not have approved, if she had been awake to see them.  


“You will be yelled at for spoiling them,” Zhenya teased.  


Zhenya didn’t usually work with Marcus, though Nicky always had good things to say about him. Zhenya had been born in Koshkal, and he worked primarily with the western part of the continent. Marcus spent most of his time organizing and analyzing information and planning operations. When he did go out into the field, it was usually in Typre or Hasala.  


They had fought pirates together when accompanying the Queen on holiday, once.  


Marcus’ face was cloudy and his eyes were red. “A little treat won’t spoil them.” His cloak had been stolen by a trio of young pups who were curled up together to sleep. He looked small and chilled in just shirtsleeves and trousers.  


Zhenya made his way to Marcus’ side, kneeling down to pet and pamper the wriggling puppies that jumped around him. “That is not what my teachers told me.” He smiled gently.  


Marcus grumbled, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. There were bags under his exhausted eyes. Spots of red from the cold colored his nose and cheeks. Zhenya folded a corner of his cloak around Marcus to offer a little bit of warmth, leaning in so they were close enough to share. He wanted to ask why Marcus was so sad, why he was sitting with sleepy puppies instead of sleeping in his own bed, but they weren’t friends.  


He asked, anyway. Zhenya liked to push boundaries, and he had the scars to prove it. “Do you want to talk about it?”  


Marcus shook his head. “Just a bad night.”  


Zhenya put a hand on Marcus’ shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. “Okay.” He was wandering around the palace at midnight. He knew bad nights were an unfortunate side-effect of the job.  


A wet puppy nose investigated Zhenya’s wrist. He picked the puppy up and lifted it to Marcus’ face; the puppy whined and chattered and enthusiastically licked Marcus’ cheeks and nose and lips.  


Marcus sputtered, and then laughed. It lit his face up like the dawn lit the clouds, bright and beaming. Zhenya laughed, too, until pup wriggled around and tried to lick his face, too, and then he overbalanced into a heap with Marcus.  


The puppies swarmed them, enthusiastic for the new game, and Zhenya had tears of laughter in his eyes as he tried to untangle them all. His cloak was now hopelessly knotted around their limbs, and as the two of them worked to free themselves, the restlessness and worries faded away.

* * *

_February_  
Sasha threw an impromptu party for everyone after he and Zhenya got back from Toumo with their limbs (and the peace treaty) intact. It was the kind of night Zhenya usually begged off. His favorite welcome home was his own bed and a fire in the hearth. But Toumo had been a warren of spies and missteps, and they had exceeded beyond anyone’s expectations. If there were reasons to celebrate, stopping a war before it could begin had to be one of them. Also, Sasha was notoriously hard to dissuade when he decided to drag someone out. Zhenya gave in with reasonable grace and let Sasha take him and Nicky to the bar.  


He didn’t expect Marcus to be there.  


“Jojo!” Sasha cried when he spotted the flushed and beaming Marcus at one of the tables. Zhenya paused to stare, but Sasha swooped forward and threw his arms around Marcus. “Hero of the hour! Your information was perfect!” Sasha smacked kisses on Marcus’ cheeks. Marcus laughed and pushed him back.  


“He’s worse than his dogs,” Nicky muttered, sliding past Zhenya on his way inside, but he was grinning.  


“Dogs are the most amazing, Nicky, you let me pick one out and you be converted forever.” Sasha was hanging over Marcus’ shoulders as he picked up the thread of an argument that had been old when Zhenya came to the palace.  


“No,” Nicky said flatly. He pulled Sasha off of Marcus. “Make sure Mackan has fun tonight!” he instructed Zhenya before vanishing into the crowd of friends and coworkers.  


Zhenya, having been summarily instructed, dropped into the seat beside Marcus. He would have done so no matter Nicky’s words. He owed his life to Marcus, too. “Marcus,” he greeted cheerfully.  


Marcus waved. “Evgeny,” he replied. “Welcome home.”  


“I am very glad to be home,” Zhenya rolled his shoulders. “And it is all thanks to you! You gave us very good information!” He stole Marcus’ mug to toast him. “I definitely like having you on our side.”  


In typical Hasalan fashion, Marcus flushed even redder and tried to demur. “It was mostly André— have you met André? He was doing clerical work until someone realized that he’s fluent in seven different languages. I think he learns them by breathing. He’s the one that realized they were using some kind of bastardized conglomeration of Typree and Alfein.”  


“André and I went through training together,” Zhenya said. “He is a very good kid. But he was probably not the one who figure out the politics.”  


Somehow, Marcus managed to blush even harder. Zhenya wondered is his cheeks would burn Zhenya’s fingertips if he touched him. It was a much better look than the time Zhenya had come across him in the kennels.  


“It was a team effort,” Marcus muttered.  


Zhenya patted him consolingly on the shoulder. “Well, we have the best team, then.”  


“And here everyone keeps telling me how smart you are,” Marcus said archly. “Did you just figure that out?”  


Zhenya gaped in delighted astonishment, Marcus cracked up, and Zhenya had to get them more to drink before he settled in to explain to Marcus that insulting someone who was trying to compliment you was damned rude. They finished the night in Zhenya’s rooms, with Marcus sprawled out on the bed while Zhenya breathed his thanks and his compliments onto Marcus’ skin.

* * *

_March_  
On a particularly cold day in early spring, Dima and Zhenya were sent out to slog through the worst parts of the city while they evaluated the newest batch of recruits. It was normally Sasha and Nicky’s job, but they had claimed to have incredibly important confidential tasks assigned to them directly by the Queen, and therefore they couldn’t go out into the gray with eight half-trained spies.  


The fetid garbage and muck was ankle deep on the worst streets. High cowls and deep hoods were insufficient to keep dry in the sleet. Dima had been grousing for entire the morning about the cold, and the wet, and the unlikeliness of Nicky and Sasha’s excuses.  


Zhenya hadn’t stopped humming.  


He didn’t notice until Dima complained about that, too, and then Zhenya realized he felt okay. Good, even, like he was warm and comfortable. It was nice.  


“Did Jojo visit last night?” Dima teased, a little bit of humor invading his face. They were taking momentary refuge from weather under an awning while the rookies were doing something they probably thought was clever in the neighboring alley.  


“No,” Zhenya said regretfully. Marcus and his team had been working past midnight every day for the last week. The two of them had been lucky to squeeze in breakfast before their days started that morning. “Carly and Alzy sent word from Typre, and he has been busy with that.” Anyway, sex had never left Zhenya feeling so cozy the next day. Energetic and positive, but not bone-deep warm and content when slush was soaking his boots.  


“Huh,” Dima said, and then fell quiet.  


Zhenya waited for a long moment. “What,” he pushed when it became apparent Dima wasn’t going to continue unprompted.  


“Sometimes when my mama has a cold, she makes my papa drink tea and take medicine, too,” Dima said slowly.  


It wasn’t like Zhenya didn’t know. Sometimes Sasha sneezed like Nicky did around flowers. Sometimes Orpik would start laughing when his wife heard a joke in another room. Sometimes Carly and Alzy forgot who who liked butter and who liked jam.  


Sometimes Zhenya felt warm when he was standing in the freezing rain.  


Zhenya wondered, and tried not to. It was too early for long term, ribbon-tying thoughts, no matter how well he liked Marcus’ kind and clever tongue. Marcus spent most of his time with books and secret codes, with periodic escapades in Hasala or Nijii. It was impractical at best.  


Zhenya couldn’t remember how many cities he had visited in just the last year. He was headed to Koshkal within the week, and would be gone for at least six more. It would be better to focus on the recruits pushing their way into the building beside them. The last thing he wanted to do was be a body that Marcus would weep over.  


But when they got back to the castle that night, he took his dinner into Marcus’ favorite study. Marcus was still there, his chair so close to the fire he was in danger of losing all his papers to a stray spark, one blanket around his shoulders and a second on his lap. There was a mug of something hot beside him, and a kettle on the hearth. He looked up when Zhenya entered the room, and his eyes immediately flew on Zhenya’s face. He smiled softly.  


“Evgeny,” Marcus said, setting aside the papers and starting to stand.  


Zhenya gestured for him to stay seated. “Marcus!” He dragged a chair next to Marcus and fell into it. “I survived.”  


“Mostly intact, even,” Marcus teased.  


Zhenya stuck his tongue out at him. “We should have been gone all night, but it turns out that Djoos stole the key to Nicky’s safehouse. Well, one of them.” Nicky probably had at least three safe houses in the city, and even more keys is secret locations only he knew about. The supplies the recruits had found within had made short work of their objectives.  


Marcus gasped theatrically. “Djoos broke into Nicky’s safehouse? How surprising!!” His words belied the sly humor in his eyes and the smirk hovering on his lips. “It was a terrible day to be out, anyway.”  


Zhenya blinked and reconsidered. Marcus was a better actor than his wide eyes and laughing mouth. He could readily believe that it might not have been _Djoos_ who filched the keys, but he wouldn’t have expected to be let in on the joke. Hasalani stuck together, even when they were playing pranks on each other.  


Unless Marcus has brought Djoos the key so that they— so that _Zhenya_ would come home faster.  


The grin started to fade from Marcus’ face, and Zhenya snapped out of his thoughts. He was more tired than he had realized, and all his bones were aching, but he didn’t want Marcus to think he wasn’t paying attention or was ungrateful. “Yes, it was brilliant. He supplied all the recruits out of it.” Zhenya took another bite of his sandwich. “Dima and I are too smart to steal from Nicky, but it was nice to be out of the rain.” He should have brought something to drink. He should have gotten them both something nice to drink.  


“Here,” Marcus said, handing over his mug. Zhenya took it in his free hand, a little surprised to smell tea, not coffee. “I felt like something different,” Marcus said, blushing and avoiding Zhenya’s gaze.  


Zhenya swallowed. “Thank you.” If he’s had a free hand, he would have touched Marcus’ shoulder. He cleared his throat. “So my day was all training and evaluating. Are you still working on Typre?”  


“Yes, but I’m almost done, thank god.” Marcus looked relieved to change the subject. “I’m starting to suspect most of this mess is actually a cover to bring one of the illegitimate Slessa lines back into succession. I can’t think of any other reason for the Alzy being mistaken for a Hasalan prince.”  


Zhenya snickered, and sipped his tea. “What, you do not think Alzy would make a good Hasalan prince?” The tea was smokey, with a hint of sweet berry jam. Marcus would have had to ask for the jam to be brought up special; only Dima, Sasha, and Zhenya took it in their tea. He had been trying not to wonder, but it was hard not to consider whether _Marcus_ was also wondering.  


“Just because he’s blond doesn’t mean he can act Hasalan.” Marcus said dryly. Thunder crashed outside, and they both glanced out the window. “Will you have to go out again tomorrow? This storm isn’t supposed to get any better.”  


Zhenya shrugged. “It is not that bad out.”  


Marcus gave him a disbelieving look. “I was cold even sitting right on top of the hearth.”  


“I was not cold at all,” Zhenya said earnestly, setting down the tea and the sandwich so he could lean closer. Marcus blinked, their eyes caught, and Zhenya couldn’t help the blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t help his words, either: “I have been warm all day.” Like he had been curled up by the fire with two blankets and all the tea he could want.  


He felt hot, embarrassed, and hopeful all at once, but he couldn’t turn away from Marcus. Marcus was wide-eyed and staring, and he stayed still for so long Zhena wondered if he had misread things.  


“Don’t tell Nicke,” Marcus finally said. “He’ll make you always go out on bad days.” Zhenya would have been disappointed, but Marcus had taken his hand, lacing their fingers together, and he didn’t let go.

* * *

_April_  
The trip back from Koshkal was brutal. Riding with sprains and stitches and bruises that covered entire limbs was painful, but it was even worse when they weren’t your injuries. Zhenya had no recourse against the pain. He alternated between cursing and worrying (but not panicking, he definitely wasn’t panicking) over whatever mess Marcus had gotten himself into. The injuries didn’t seem to be life threatening, but in the field, a sprained knee at the wrong moment could still get you into trouble.  


Marcus wasn’t in the field very often. There was no reason to think the pain was from anything other than a tumble down some stairs.  


Of course, when he finally made it back to the palace and left his horse in the capable hands of the stablemaster, Zhenya learned that Marcus _was_ in the field. Zhenya’s heart rate ratcheted up as he listened to Sasha tell him, a slight apology in his voice, that they weren’t expecting Marcus back from Typre for days.  


“Why is he in Typre?” Zhenya asked blankly.  


“Who else would be able to rescue Alzy and Carly from their mess?” Sasha asked, a grin on his face like Zhenya was missing a hilarious joke.  


Zhenya paused to think about that through the aches and travel-weariness. “Is Marcus pretending to be a lost Hasalan prince, too?”  


Sasha chuckled, but didn’t answer, and just told him to rest while they reviewed his reports.  


Zhenya left a note in Marcus’ room anyway, and went to soak in the baths until his muscles liquified and the road was washed clean from his body. He joined Dima for dinner and then crawled into his empty bed. It wasn’t the homecoming he had been looking forward to.  


It was just past midnight when Zhenya woke up to a stumbling clatter at his door. Zhenya, still running on Koshkal nerves, rolled silently to his feet and took two of the knives from the nightstand. It should have been safe here, but it wouldn’t be the first time an assassin followed him home. He ghosted up to the closed door to the main room, and slowly, carefully inched it open.  


There was a clumsy shadow cursing in a familiar voice as it tried to find a clear path through the dark room. Zhenya pushed the door all the way open and turned on the lights, leaving his knives on the closest table. “Marcus?”  


“Evgeny,” Marcus breathed, and then promptly tripped over a chair. Zhenya leaped forward to catch him.  


“What did you do to yourself?” Zhenya wondered, gripping Marcus’ shoulders. He took in Marcus’ bandages, travel clothes, and battered cane. “Did you come straight here?”  


Marcus winced and gave up on the cane, letting Zhenya help him toward the bedchamber instead. “I dropped my bags off in my apartment. I, ah, found your note.” He winced again as they entered the room. Zhenya frowned harder.  


“It’s not that bad.” Marcus tried to smile.  


Zhenya helped Marcus lay down on the bed. “So, what do you consider bad, then?”  


Marcus’ laugh turned into a groan. “Maybe a little bad. My ribs may hate me.”  


“I think your everything might hate you.” Zhenya started stripping clothes and weapons and boots from Marcus. There was a rough splint on Marcus’ left knee, and angry purple bruises everywhere. He was scraped up, there were a handful deeper gashes that likely had required stitches, and Zhenya suspected the red and angry marks over Marcus’ ribs would turn out to be fractures. When Marcus just shrugged, Zhenya thoughtfully poked him in the thigh, right where a particularly painful line had been making Zhenya limp.  


Marcus yelped and swatted at Zhenya. “How did you know— you can feel all of this?” He put his hand over his ribs. Both of them flinched. It was worse, now that they were so close: the shorter distance meant that the connection between them was stronger. Zhenya pulled Marcus’ hand away, squeezing his fingers briefly before straightening up.  


“I thought you said it was not bad? No, do not move, stay here. I will fetch a healer.” Zhenya turned to find a guard or servant to send for help. He would need fresh bandages, and for someone to check the stitches and those ribs. Zhenya could do many things, but he wasn’t a trained healer.  


“Wait—” Marcus flailed, trying to sit up. Zhenya rushed back to him, fear flaring with Marcus’ pain. Marcus grabbed his hands. “Don’t go.”  


Zhenya allowed Marcus to pull him back onto the bed. “You need a healer.” He brushed his fingers gently down Marcus’ cheek, careful to avoid the two scratches and black eye. Marcus really was a mess. He wondered if Alzy and Carly were in a similar state, or if they had escaped with their skin intact.  


“Soon,” Marcus said. “Just stay here for a moment.” He looked uncertain, biting his lip and avoiding eye contact, though his fingers were curled tightly around Zhenya’s.  


“Healers also have the best drugs,” Zhenya coaxed.  


Marcus took a long breath. “I think we should talk about this.”  


Zhenya wasn’t stupid, he knew what Marcus was referring to. Still, was this really the time to discuss a soul bond? “Now?” Zhenya raised his eyebrows. “It waited these last weeks, you think it cannot wait for the morning?”  


“You can feel all my pain,” Marcus said quietly. “That must have been awful. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make it harder on you. We have figure this out, before it interferes with the job and Alex and Nicke are calling us in for a talk.”  


Zhenya shrugged. “It is not unexpected. You kept me warm, before.” Marcus had been cold, but not freezing, that stormy day in March. Now Zhenya was sharing Marcus’ pain. “Is there less pain when I am here?”  


Marcus flushed but nodded.  


Zhenya smiled and squeezed his hand. “Then I think it is a good thing, not something to worry over. Nicky and Sasha will definitely understand.”  


Marcus couldn’t argue with that, though he tried. “A good thing, even though you know I’m going to refuse to take any morphine, and you’re going to be feeling cracked ribs for weeks?”  


Zhenya laughed at him. “I am going to go get the healer just so I can watch you say that to his face,” he promised, kissed the corner of Marcus’ lips, and left to do just that. He could feel Marcus smiling as he walked away, and yes, this was definitely something good.

* * *

_May_  
Zhenya gave Marcus a basket of flowers tied with a red ribbon for May Day.  


It was a little fast, he admitted, but he didn’t want to wait in hopes that they would both be in the city next year. Nicky and Sasha had promised to start pairing them up going forward (and hadn’t that been a conversation, with Nicky torn between happiness for their new partnership and dismay that Marcus wasn’t going to be doing as much planning and analysis), but that didn’t mean they would be able to attend a May Day festival. In a year, they might be undercover, or traveling, or dead.  


So _too soon_ it was. Zhenya wove the basket like Papa had taught him, picked the flowers he thought Marcus would like best, and left the gift on the bed where Marcus was still sleeping. Marcus, Zhenya had learned, slept until noon if he could, and since it was a holiday, he definitely would.  


Zhenya spent the morning grooming his horses, going over the current status of the Koshkal follow-up, and nervously checking the time. The festival was already in full swing, with dancing and music and food overflowing the grounds, but Zhenya didn’t want to go until Marcus was awake. He ran into André, sneaking around with a yellow-ribboned basket near the recruits dormitory, while he was trying to find tasks to occupy himself.  


“You are a little old for the rookies,” Zhenya mused, watching André’s face turn pink. “Who is this for? Should I be telling Nicky? Would he approve?”  


André pouted. “Why are you skulking around? Shouldn’t you be talking Jojo into dancing with you?”  


Zhenya flushed and exclaimed his outrage while André laughed at him.  


“That’s what I thought,” André said, with considerable satisfaction, and ducked into one of the dorms. Zhenya automatically noted whose it was, but didn’t stick around for more teasing. Little polyglot André was growing claws.  


Zhenya slipped out of the dorms as the afternoon bell began to chime the hour. He looked in the direction of his suite, and swallowed. That had to be enough time for Marcus to wake up and decide on a response.  


Neither Marcus nor the basket was in the apartment, though. The bed was haphazardly straightened and Marcus’s boots were gone, so Zhenya turned right back around and started searching. Marcus wasn’t in his favorite study, or Nicky’s office, or the library. The kitchens were bustling with extra help, but no Marcus. For the first time, Zhenya’s nerves didn’t seem unwarranted or unrealistic.  


Then he felt a dog lick his hand.  


There was no dog, but that was enough of a clue: Zhenya went to the kennels where they had first talked and laughed.  


It was déjà vu to see Marcus seated on the ground, surrounded by half-grown dogs. This time, though, the room was warm and comfortable, and Marcus was serenely braiding the flowers from his basket into crowns for the dogs. The dogs mostly tore them apart and played with the petals, but Marcus was undeterred. His quick fingers repaired the linked stems almost as fast as they broke.  


Zhenya cleared his throat. “Marcus.”  


Marcus set his latest crown on a brindled head before looking up. He was smiling, and Zhenya could feel it warming his bones like hot tea. He smiled back.  


“Evgeny,” Marcus replied, standing. He left the half full basket on the ground, where it was dangerously close to being turned into a chew toy. Zhenya didn’t mind the careless destruction of his hard work, now with Marcus smiling so softly and taking his hands.  


“You been hiding here?” Zhenya asked, taking in Marcus’ bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “Here I try to be kind and let you sleep in, all you want to do is cuddle with all the dogs.”  


“You should have stuck around. Maybe woken me up,” Marcus murmured. “It would have been nice if you’d been there and given me someone else to cuddle with, besides all the dogs.”  


Zhenya hummed. “Should I apologize?” He put his hands on Marcus’ hips, pressing a small kiss to Marcus’ lips. “Sorry.”  


Marcus leaned into him for a moment, before shaking his head as if to clear it. “You definitely should be,” he said, meeting Zhenya’s gaze. “Close your eyes?”  


Zhenya could do that. He let his eyes fall shut and listened to the sounds of Marcus shifting, fabric rustling, the dogs playing. He felt something soft and smooth touch his wrist as his hand was lifted up, and he couldn’t keep stay still any longer. His eyes sprang open to see Marcus wrapping the red ribbon from his basket around their wrists, tying them together.  


Zhenya felt like a sunny day, like his entire body would float away if it wasn’t for that tie. Marcus finished the looping bow and tangled their fingers.  


“You peeked,” Marcus accused, voice warm with humor and affection.  


“You said yes,” Zhenya returned, grinning so hard his cheeks ached with it. “Will you stay with me forever?”  


“I already said yes.” Marcus gestured at the ribbon between them. “Come dance with me.” He tugged Zhenya toward the door.  


Zhenya couldn’t help catching him, kissing him. “I would love to,” he said, and then, “I love _you_.”  


Marcus grinned brightly. “Me, too,” he said, and kissed Zhenya back, the ribbon around their wrists and his joy in Zhenya’s heart.


End file.
